


Song of Sea and Salt

by ncfan



Series: Sirion [9]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brothers, Child Neglect, Childhood, F/M, Gen, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 04:04:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncfan/pseuds/ncfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything in Sirion smells of salt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Song of Sea and Salt

If Elros associates anything with his father, it's the sight of the evening Sun sinking beneath the waves to the west, and the golden corona of the Sun before she starts to go red. It's been a long time since he's seen his father, more than two years, or so his mother tells him, in a brittle tone of voice that makes Elrond tug on his sleeve to quiet him. Elros has no clear image in his head of the face of Eärendil. He best remembers his father's golden hair, as bright as the Sun, and that he smelled of salt.

Then again, everything in Sirion smells of salt. Elros and Elrond, the white-plastered stone buildings, the streets, everything. Even Elwing, beneath her perfume and sweet-scented scarves, smells of the salt of the sea, and she is far more real to Elros than Eärendil has ever been. At times, Elros thinks the world is drenched in salt.

Elros spots silver fish swimming in the shallows, ebbing in and out with the tide and "Come look!" he calls brightly to his brother, who is sitting on the sandy beach some yards away from him with their nurse, fiddling with some small iridescent rock he found in the sands. Elros's voice is lost on the wind; neither Elrond nor their nurse Glessil hears him. To make matters worse, the fish dart away when Elros tries to lay hands on them, and he is left to stare out at the ocean, wondering if the fish have gone to be with his father, and if they, like him, will ever come back.

-0-0-0-

Common are the days in which the twin sons of Eärendil and Elwing go down to the seashore. During the spring and summer, and in autumn when it is still warm, whenever the weather is agreeable they wish to go down to the beach. Glessil has been given orders only to allow it if they have been behaving well, but she is soft-hearted and inclined to be indulgent, so perhaps Elros and his brother go down to the shore more often than they should.

Common are the days in which Elros and Elrond go to the shore. Far rarer are the days when it is their mother who accompanies them, and not their nurse.

They've been roused from bed very early, before the Sun had properly begun to rise. Of course, Elwing's sons complain about being woken while it's still dark, but she has donned one of her sheer blue cloaks, and she smiles faintly as she tells them to get dressed, they're going down to the ocean for a little while before she has to open the doors of her presence chamber and begin the business of the day.

After that, both of her sons are bright and awake, Elrond especially, who cleaves to his mother's side when she is present with him. They clutch her hands as they go quietly down the winding ways of the palace, cloaked in shadow and silence, before reaching the edge of the city. The side of the city of Sirion facing the sea is not walled; there is no need for it. Though Sirion is bisected by the river that shares its name, the land breaks off sharply in sheer cliffs more than fifty feet high at the edge of the city, and the branch of the river that flows through the center of the city crashes in a great waterfall, as thunderous as the sea itself. If ships wish to dock in Sirion, they must take one of the other branches of the river, and sail upstream until they can find another way into the city.

Mother and sons go down a steep, narrow stairwell cut into the rock, Elwing insisting that they hold her hands as they do so in her oddly flat, listless voice. When the three of them reach the bottom of the stairwell, the shore is naught but harsh and jagged rocks flecked with sea-foam, gulls clustering over some fallen prey, filling the air with their harsh squawks. They walk until they find gentler, sandier shores.

The familiar pattern is established. Elros goes wandering far and wide about the shore. Elrond, no less curious, but more cautious than his brother, sits at his mother's feet, leaning against her leg as he digs into the sand with his small, plump hands. Elwing stands still and silent as a statue, her long dark curls fanning about in the gray-lavender pre-dawn light, staring out at the edge of the horizon, fingering the jewel about her throat.

Elwing is in possession of a jewel of fantastic radiance and beauty, which she wears about her throat in a necklace at all times, even when she sleeps. It is called a Silmaril, or so Elros has heard, some sort of holy jewel. It matters little to him. The shine of it hurts his eyes, even if Mama can stare into it for hours on end, as Elros and Elrond have caught her doing from time to time. They can never rouse her in such moments; it's as though her mind has gone to another place, and her body is just a shell, small and frail and hollow as paper stretched over a canvas. She's not their mother in those moments, and the jewel seems to have a life of its own, a pulse in its hot, sharp facets as Elrond will try to wrest it from her grasp.

This morning, this very early morning, Elwing seems mostly herself, which is to say she seems must the same as she ever does to Elros. Distant and quiet and small, but sharper-eared than Glessil despite her human blood, occasionally lifting her voice to tell Elros not to wander too far. Ever staring out towards the sea, searching the horizon for any sign of a ship.

She's looking for Papa. She must be, the same way Elros does, tipping his head out the window of his and Elrond's bedchamber at night. Elwing doesn't talk much about Eärendil. She does not answer her sons' questions about him, and when they ask her lips tighten and she gets all brittle and Elrond will tug on his sleeve again and shake his small head, frowning.

The Sun begins to rise, and a soft, sweet breeze comes on the air. Today is warmer than past days have been, warm for early spring. Elros pauses to drink it in, but all too soon, Elwing is calling to him, telling him that there's no time left, and they must go back now.

-0-0-0-

"What's all that shouting?" Elros asks nervously, looking behind him for any sign of Mama or Glessil.

"Shhh!" Elrond hisses in response, tugging on his hand as they run down the corridor, looking for Mama. That's how he answers every one of Elros's questions, as they slip into room after room, where Mama can not be found.

There's screaming all around. Elves and Men are screaming, in the city and in the palace now too. Elros looked to the window once, before Elrond could pull him away, and he saw people fighting in the streets. He doesn't understand. Are they under attack? Who's attacking them, then? Elros has heard nothing, and he's good at hearing things he's not supposed to.

And now Mama's gone, and they can't find her.

They pause in the hallways, not sure what to do, hearing nothing but the sounds of their own ragged breathing, as loud as the screams that are starting to echo up from the lower floors. Elros meets his brother's eyes. Elrond looks as frightened and anxious as he feels, face white, lips quivering, eyes panicked.

Heavy footsteps sound from down a turn in the corridor, and the twins dive into the nearest room with an unlocked door, huddling in a dark corner by the window, and praying that their mother will find them soon. Where once they smelled salt, all they smell now is blood.


End file.
